


Wicked Game

by TheDixcesters



Series: Take You For A Ride [1]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Bottom!Sub!Daryl, Daryl is 11, Extreme Underage, M/M, Top!Dom!Merle, Underage - Freeform, kid!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDixcesters/pseuds/TheDixcesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All things truly wicked start from innocence."- Ernest Hemingway</p><p> <br/>Daryl sets out late at night to see Merle again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Game

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the second part of the "Innocence"-Verse, but can be read as a stand alone. It will take a long time until I'll write the prequel and this one here was aready finished so I decided to post it anyway.

The loud droning of rock music matched the pounding of his heart as he drew closer and closer to the wooden bar. A vast number of bikes, shiny chrome and black varnish, were parked row after row in front of it. 

There were currently no people outside - something he was thankful for. He didn't want to be seen, at least not right away. Not in such a place at such a time, and definitely not by some drunk bikers looking for trouble of any kind.

He could hear laughter coming from the inside of the joint, even if the steady thumping of drums made the dirty glass of the windows clink in their frames. Men bawling out or at eachother, getting into fights. Furniture being scratched over the floor or being knocked over in a clumsy haze. Glasses being banged together or broken. 

It was night. The only sources of light provided the glaring neon electro signs that illuminated the gravel yard besides cones of orange ligt which fell trough the small windows onto the wooden walls of the biker bar.

What was he doing here again?

Daryl looked at the crumpled note inside of his palm and unfolded it for what must have been the millionth time that night. He tried to decipher the letters and numbers that were scribbled on the worn piece of paper, but the sweat of his hands had blurred the ink of the most of them and turned them into an illegible mess.

Cursing himself for his nervousness, he wiped his wet palms on his jeans, leaving dark prints in the process.  
Luckily, he had already read the digits so often that they were practically engraved in his brain and he could remember most of them. He glanced up at the excuse of a road sign and compared it to the adress that had once been on the note. It matched. He was at the right place.

This was the place where _he_ would be. 

A mixture of excitement and anxiety fluttered up in his stomach. It soothed the pain of his aching feet and nearly made him forget about the fact that he was chilled to the bone. He had been walking a few miles in nothing but a thin T shirt after all, and the cold winds of a rapidly approaching fall had turned the mild summer nights chilly.

Yeah, wearing a T shirt hadn't been one of his best ideas that night - besides coming out here in the first place - but under the circumstances of this whole action, one could even call it a mission, it had been an almost understandable thing to do.

You see, the circumstaces were that Daryl really shouldn't be here at the moment. 

No, no, no, you don't understand. He really shouldn't! He wasn't allowed to. 

Right now _he_ was supposed to be at home, curled up under a protective blanket in his warm and comfy bed and not a big, fluffy pillow that kinda had the size of his body and made it look like he was still lying in bed and sleeping like a good kid should at almost 2am.

Not that he was a kid anymore. He was already 11, only two months away from turning 12 after all, but you get the idea. 

And it didn't actually help matters that his father had grounded him for the next 2 months. Meaning that he wasn't even given the permission to go outside and play on the street with his friends in broad daylight, let alone making sure that his father was fast asleep before hastily throwing on some clothes, climbing out of his window with nothing more than an adress and a flashlight in his pocket and wandering off alone to some off the beaten track, seedy biker bar long after midnight. 

So, now you're all presumably thinking that that's bad enough of a thing to do, right?

There's one thing more that you should know about Daryl. He wasn't grounded for something plain but normal like shooting a soccer ball trough the livingroom window or not comming home for dinner in time. No.

He wasn't allowed to leave the house for the next two months because of Merle. Merle Dixon.  
A member of the Savage Sons, a notorious motorcyle club that his father had unfortunately got involved with. His dad had been in a huge debt crisis, induced by the loss of his job and his wife, that he had hoped he could cope with a little bit of not-so-clean money from the Sons. 

Little had he known that owing the Savage Sons was by far worse than owing the Bank Of America.

After several months of his father not being able to pay the money back and a couple of reminders and threats arriving, the club had finally sent their henchman in the form of Merle Dixon to their home. A henchman who had been hungry for at least a compensation for the missing money. A compensation that he had decided Daryl would be.

Long story short: Merle had flirted with him in front of his raging father before coming back later and seducing Daryl when his father hadn't been at home. He had taken Daryl on the couch in the living room, fucking him so hard and thoroughly that Daryl had passed out directly after, only to vanish and leave Daryl lying naked in sweat and come for his dad to find when he had come home. 

He wasn't even going to start on describing what happened after his father found him sleeping on the couch. His little, innocent angle defiled and used by such a sick, perverted low life.

Calling the police on this obvious case of child abuse hadn't been an option. His father would have gone to jail himself if the cops would have found out that he paid his bank debts with dirty money and then Daryl would have had no one to look after or care for him. So the only thing that his father had been able to do was to comfort his poor son and lock him away, at least for his own safety, hoping that no one would even dare to come near his precious son again.

What his father didn't known though was that Daryl had wanted it. Had wanted Merle since he had seen him sitting in their little kitchen. Grown, intimidating man, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer, leering at Daryl like a piece of meat. He had wanted it all. The attention, the lingering touches, the dirty words whispered into his ear, the pleasure and excitement as Merle took him.

His father didn't know that every night, Daryl lay on his bed, touching himself. Lanky body spread out, one hand fisted around his still small cock, pumping up and down. The thin fingers of his other hand sliding between his shaking thighs, inside his tiny hole to the memory of how it had felt when Merle had held him down and pushed his thick cock into Daryl's small body, thrusting in and out, again and again, harder and harder. 

Sometimes he carressed the slowly fading bruises on his arms where Merle had grabbed and held him, remembered how good it had felt when the man had pressed him down into submission. The sound of Merle's deep, filthy moaning and groaning was still fresh in his memory, ringing in his ears, mixing up with the noises that spilled out of his own mouth as Daryl fucked himself onto his fingers. How he had begged him for more, more, more! … 

His father didn't know that Daryl wanted nothing more in the world than to see Merle once more. That he longed for the man to do it all again. And he didn't know that his little, innocent angle son had ran off to do excactly that. 

He was going to be in soooo much trouble after this. … Probably.  
But it would be totally worth it. … Probably.

He cleared his throat and shook his head as to chase the thoughts away. He couldn't afford to be inattentive now. He had a mission. All this effort couldn't be for nothing. 

Daryl slipped the piece of paper into the back pocket of his jeans again. A last reassuring look around confirmed that he was still alone. Drawing a deep breath, he proceeded to walk over to the bar, taking one wary step after another.

The closer he got to the saloon, the more uneasy he got. The music and noises from inside becomming louder and louder, pounding almost painfully in his head. His heart was beating so fast, he feared it might burst out of his chest and the lump in his throat was growing with every step, cutting of his breath and making it hard to swallow. 

Before he really knew it, he was standing in front of the heavy wooden door of the bar. The dark outline of the building spread out in his vision like a threatening monster, ready to swallow and eat him. Panic washed through his stomach like an icy wave, swirling up nagging doubts. What would happen once he was in? No one was here to help him! Dad was at home, sleeping, not knowing that Daryl was here. What would he say or do if he ever found out that his son wasn't in his room? Should he really be going in there?

Before he was even able to come to a decision, blazing light poured over his face and into his eyes, forcing Daryl to squint and turn his face away to protect his burning retina. Only as he became aware that the noises from inside of the joint had become even louder and clearer he noticed that someone had tore the door of the bar open and was now staring down at him.

„The fuck are yer doin' here, kid?“, the person slurred. A man's voice.

Daryl turned his head torward the man and tentatively opened his eyes that were only slowly getting accustomed to the bright light spilling out through the door.

„You lookin' for somthn'?“ The stranger was definitely a biker. Leather vest with the Savage Sons logo, biker boots and jeans, leather-wristband, a full brown beard, long and shaggy hair and dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. He was obviously drunk, judging by the way he reeked of whiskey and cheaper alcohol and how he clutched at the door frame as if he was going topple over any second should he let go of it.

Daryl was so shocked by this sudden intrusion that he only managed to blurt out „Merle Dixon!“ as an answer.

Thankfully the drunk had heard and understood him the first time and was now grinning at him with a dizzy but fond expression.

Suddenly the man jerked his body around with a speed that one wouldn't assume of a man this drunk and tall and bellowed into the bar room, his voice sounding impossible deep and raw. „Dixon! Your damn kid's here!“

And with that, Daryl was pulled into the arms of the stranger, pressed against his leg and waist and steered inside before he could do so much as protest, hadn't it been for the fact that his voice was muffled by a mouthful of leather.

„Goddam Merle! No damn kids in this fuckin' bar, you damn well know that!“, he heard comming from the barkeeper as he was being dragged further and further inside of the bar, the sharp smell of smoke and alcohol already burning through his nostrils and clouding his senses.

Daryl was unable to do anything but gape at his surroundings. The men, mostly dressed in leather and jeans, drinking, roaring, playing pool or poker, flirting or making out with women that wore only the bare necessities and were dancing on the floor or even on tables.

Most of them didn't even spare the little kid a glance that was led trough the bar and just carried on taking care of their own buisness.

Daryl barely had time to take it all in, overwhelemd by the new, foreign impressions.

But through the fog of his immobility, the realisation of what just happened started to kick in.  
He made it! He freaking made it! He was being brought to Merle! He was going to see Merle again!

Only just so, he was able to contain himself and keep on what he hoped looked like a decent poker face. For the second time this night, he wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and hoped that he still looked decent enough despite having spent over 2 hours wandering through the (almost) desert. 

The biker that had Daryl tucked tightly under his heavy arms spoke up again as they both had reached a certain group of tables, more slightly to very drunk bikers sitting around them and eyeing Daryl with mild interest. Daryl swallowed.

„Hey Dix. You have a fuckin' kid now? Who the hell did you get pregnant?“, the man laughed at a figure that sat at the front table and had his back turned to them, holding a beer in hand. 

Though he was only able to catch a glimpse at the man, Daryl could feel his heart already leaping into his throat. Broad back, muscled shoulders that coud be seen beneath the straps of a white wife beater that had seen better days, and the back of the man's head, where the short hair was a dark shade of grey.

„What the fuck man? I ain't gettin' no bitch pregnant!“

The familliar raspy voice that came out of the man's throat as he slurred the answer made the hair on Daryl's neck stand up pleasantly. Merle! It was him! He feverishly fought against the urge to just run up to him and throw himself into his arms.

„Oh yeah?!“, the bear of a man beside him taunted Merle. „Then this must be somebody else's kid that had been askin' for ya useless piece of ass I suppose, hm?“ And with that he released Daryl from the hold of his arm and gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder to nudge him forwards - meaning that he pushed Daryl with much more power than had been necessary and the force of it let him stagger into Merle's direction. Dixon's reflexes, after he had already turned around in his seat, were only hardly fast enough to catch and prevent the kid from falling.

„The hell?!“, Merle protested as he caught the small body in his arms, looking down at the boy in bewilderment. He was only able to see a rumpled, soft looking tuft of brown hair and lanky limps flailing around, hitting him with barely noticeable force, prompting him to snatch at the kid's delicate arms and holding them down to his upper thighs in cautious firmness.

Having overcome the shock of almost hitting his forehead on the wooden planks of the floor, the shock of hitting his forehead on Merle Dixo's chest made him look up instinctively and straight into the man's face. The older man's half angry half confused expression lightened up in disbelieving remembrance as he reckognized just who he held in his arms.

„Well, well. Who do we've got here?“, he drawled, heavy southern accent prominent in his voice as he looked Daryl up and down. „Comin' over to visit your old pal Merle?“

Daryl felt his face going bright red, flushing hot in embarrasment as he was reminisced to the evening Merle had come over to their home and they both had ended up on the couch.

„Naaah, no need to be shy now, Darleen! Com'ere.“ And he patted on his lap, spreading his legs in invitation.

For a moment Daryl couldn't move his body an inch, struck dumb with the blunt request.  
He couldn't believe that god apparently didn't hate him and was willing to let Daryl have all that he wanted for once. 

Shaking himself out of his haze, he raised his arms to get a hold of Merle's shoulders so he could pull himself up and into the man's lap. „Come on, sit on uncle Merle's lap, boy.“ He could feel Merle's deep voice rumbling in his chest. His fingertips prickled with the touch as they brushed against Merle's skin and when Daryl was finally seated on the man's sturdy thighs, it felt as if they were burning holes through Daryl's jeans.

„Yeah, just like that. Now that's nice, ain't it?“ Merle's breath smelled of alcohol and cigarrets, softly caressing the shell of his ear and causing goosebumbs to rise on Daryl's neck. 

Fingers that were rough with callouses scrubbed gently up and down over his upper arms, cherishing the flawless, milky skin that was Daryl's. After a while he let his hands wander, threading his thick fingers into Daryl's soft hair, petting him in all places that he could reach.

Daryl was in heaven, melting wax under the man's hands who he wanted for weeks now, but still, for some reason he wasn't able to raise his head and look him into the eyes.

„Sooooo...“, Merle continued his little interrogation, „You probably came out here all on yer own, am I right?“ Daryl nodded. No need to lie to him. The corners of Merle's lips turned up into a smug smile.

„Does daddy know about yer little trip?“ Merle's smile grew into something malicious. Daryl shook his head, still not being able to look into the older man's eyes. „Didn't think so.“, the elder huffed in amusement. 

„Now, I bet you didn't just come all the way out here to get a beer, so you can boast in front of yer little friends of how much of a man you are.“ Daryl shook his head again, knuckles turning white with the vice grip he had on Merle's wife beater. It was slightly damp from a long day's sweat and spilled beer, the scent invading his nostrils, filling his lungs with a smell that was pure Merle. Musky, earthy, salty.

He swallowed hard again, Merle's look that never quite lost it's predatory touch wandered over to his adams apple as it bobbed up and down. 

„What did ya come for, boy?“, his voice low and hoarse.  
Daryl felt Merle's look weighing him down as he desperately searched for the right words.

A big, warm hand under his chin interrupted his thoughts and he let his head be tipped back, his chin raised up, until he couldn't look anywhere but into Merle's grey eyes.

„Came here f-for ... you.“, was the only thing to break out of his throat and he cursed himself immediatly after.  
To Dary's relief, Merle's face stayed void of any disapproval. After a short nod, the man's expression turned incredible smug again and before Daryl knew it, he found his lips caught in soft, dry kiss.

A small whimper escaped his lips as Merle drew back again, shit eating grin still plastered over his face. 

Daryl's cheecks burned hot with embarrasment, but the fact that Merle was holding him, letting him sit on his lap, kissing him even in front of all the other men and women in the bar excited him to no end.

„Can hardly believe that ya really came here t'see me again. Yer one sneeky sonofabitch, ya know that? Never thought I'd get the chance to have such a sweet little thing like you again.“

His words were like warm honey sliding down his body, making him feel good unlike any other thing he had ever felt. Daryl let the warmth rush over him again, the attention, the touches, the smell, Merle!

This time when he kissed the boy, Merle pulled him against his chest, letting Daryl wander his small hands over the solid muscles to find something he could hold onto as the man's tounge pushed trough his pink, soft lips, sliding wetly against his own.

A shudder ran down Daryl's spine as Merle's tounge, bittersweet taste of whiskey still lingering on it, plunged in and out of his mouth, over and over, tounge-fucking him in an imitation and promise of how he would fuck him for real again once they were out of this joint.

In his growing arousal, Daryl couldn't help but push his ass down against Merle's crotch in desperate, tiny movements that had the older man thrusting his hips up and groaning helplessly, the feeling of the boy's little round ass pressing down in his lap and rubbing his dick turning out to be almost too much.

As the mewling of the boy grew louder and the pressure in his groin increased to an almost unbarable level, he broke the kiss and softly pushed the kid back at his shoulders until he could see his face; blush spreading over the white satiny skin, blue eyes half lidded, lips slightly open in innocent wantonness. He was the most beautiful thing Merle had ever seen and he wanted nothing more than to defile him all over again.

„Boy, I think it's about time we get outta here.“

Daryl couldn't agree more with that.

**Author's Note:**

> by Louisa


End file.
